


Ghosts in the Halls

by scullywolf



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Gen, Ghosts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 16:43:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20261269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scullywolf/pseuds/scullywolf
Summary: Dana Scully is pretty sure that the TA in her Intro to Psych class is out of his mind.(Not Scenes in Between. Just a little AU fic I wrote a while back and never got around to posting here.)





	Ghosts in the Halls

Dana stumbles and nearly faceplants in the wet grass, the weight of her bookbag throwing her even more off balance.  _ Damn it. _ Recovering her footing, she squints at the lanky form pulling away in front of her and wonders how in the hell she got herself into this mess.

Two weeks ago, at the start of the semester, she had all her proverbial ducks in a row: thesis research well underway, med school applications submitted, just a few short months away from graduating with honors. Now she’s chasing the TA for her intro psych class through a graveyard in the rain.

It was supposed to be an easy elective, a soft science class to fill out her schedule and give her a breather from the rest of her rigorous course load. And the class itself is a bit of a snore, the bland Dr. Blevins not exactly an intimidating figure, nor a particularly motivating one. His TA, on the other hand…

“Come on, Scully!”

_ Mulder _ . He runs the recitation session for the course and insists on calling everyone by their last names. She should have known the first time she walked in the room and saw him not so much sitting as lounging at the front, should have known then that this class was going to be unconventional, to say the least.

He’d nearly plowed into her this evening, bolting by in front of the library as she was leaving it, and when he’d given a hurried, “Come on, I need your help!” she had… followed him? She doesn’t even know why. Across campus, off campus, over a lawn and into the cemetery they’re running through now. 

“Where are we going?” she pants, finally coming to her senses enough to ask.

“Just a little further,” he shouts over his shoulder, vaulting over a small headstone and ducking off to the right. He skids to a stop in front of the church and points. “There she is! You see her?”

Still several steps behind him, it takes a couple of seconds for her to catch up, but even then she can’t see anything through the rain and the spots of water and mud on her glasses.

“I don’t know what you’re--”

“Through the window! Sister Mary Agnes. Or rather, the  _ former _ Sister Mary Agnes.”

She pulls her glasses off but only succeeds in smearing them with her damp sweater. “I don’t understand. This isn’t a Catholic church. There shouldn’t be nuns here. And why did you drag me out here to look at a nun through a window, anyway?”

He turns to her, and even through her blurred lenses she can see the huge grin on his face. “Not a nun. A ghost.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “Is this a joke?”

“Of course not. I would never joke about spectral phenomena.” When she only manages to gape dumbly at him, he adds, “What, you don’t believe in ghosts?”

“Of course I don’t believe in ghosts! Because they don’t exist!”

“Oh, I think Mary Agnes in there would beg to differ.” He nods toward the church window again, where Dana still can’t actually see anything. “Though technically she only  _ exists _ here as a corporeal apparition for a few hours on the 28th of January. I’ve never managed to ask her what she gets up to the rest of the year.”

Either this is some sort of prank (to which he’s currently committing 110%), or he’s completely insane. She’s honestly not sure which scenario she’s hoping for. 

She stares at him for what feels like forever before finally relocating her voice. “Look, Mulder. I am standing out here, in the rain and the mud, because you said you needed my help. So unless you need someone to give you directions to the campus counselor’s office, I really have to get home.” 

He shakes his head, chuckling. “You think I’m crazy. All right, I’m sorry I wasted your time. Have a good night, Scully. I’ll see you in class next week.” 

He turns and starts to walk away from her, across the grass toward the church. No explanation, no justification for any of this, and while the rational part of her understands, in the interest of self preservation, that she really ought to leave right now, there’s another part of her that wants answers. Needs them, even.

“Wait.” He stops and turns around, and she takes a step closer. “Why did you bring me out here, really?”

He shrugs. “You’re a senior in a freshman-level psychology class, which means you’re probably not a liberal arts or humanities major. Something in the hard sciences instead, or maybe engineering. I figure you’re probably the sort of person who, when confronted with a ghost, wouldn’t run screaming, but rather would want to examine it, put it in quantifiable terms. Plus there’s the saint’s medal on your backpack, and I was hoping Sister Mary Agnes might be willing to interact with a fellow Catholic, but I’ll admit that’s probably a long shot.”

She crosses her arms over her chest, unable to decide whether she’s impressed or unnerved. 

“I wasn’t looking for you specifically or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he continues. “I was already on my way here when I ran into you, and I thought you’d be intrigued. Obviously I thought wrong, but that’s okay. Anyway, I’m gonna go. She doesn’t usually stick around much later than about seven o’clock.”

Without waiting for a response, he turns again and continues walking toward the church’s side door. This time she doesn’t stop to think about it before following him. If nothing else, it will be warmer in the building than out here, and she can at least dry off a little before heading home. There are lights on and undoubtedly other people in there; it’s not as though she’ll be stuck alone with Mulder if he really is off his rocker. 

“So you’re telling me that the ghost of a nun haunts a Methodist church once a year, for several hours in the middle of the evening, when there are likely people here for meetings or study groups, and yet no one finds this odd or surprising?” she says as she catches up with him.

He pulls the door open and holds it for her, grinning. “They don’t know she’s a ghost.”

“I hope you’ll forgive the obvious question, but… are you sure she  _ is _ one?”

“Well, unless you know of any living nuns who’ve figured out how to vanish into thin air, yeah, I’m pretty sure.”

The door closes behind them, shutting out the sounds of the rain and wrapping them in the hushed stillness Dana has long associated with church. She tries to quietly wipe her shoes on the mat and is looking down when Mulder taps her on the shoulder. She looks up at him, and he’s pointing with his other hand down the hall to their left. In the distance, Dana can just make out a swish of black fabric before her view is blocked by Mulder, taking off in pursuit. She hurries to catch up without breaking into a run, her strides no match for his, and she’s half a step behind him when she sees a woman, wearing what certainly seems to be a nun’s habit, open a door off the hallway and walk through it.

Seconds later, Mulder’s pushing open the same door, and Dana follows, so caught up in the moment that she’s abandoned caution and the usual concerns about knocking before entering a room. And then she immediately runs right into Mulder’s back, because they’ve not entered a room so much as a storage closet. 

A very empty storage closet.

She backs into the hallway, trying to peer around him. Mulder flicks on the light switch and steps back to stand beside her, gesturing with one arm toward the tiny room where there is most definitely not a soul, living or otherwise, standing inside.

“But… but she was just…” she stammers.

“Here one second, gone the next. Guess we just missed her.”

She walks back into the closet, pulling the door aside to peer behind it, crouching to look futilely under the bottom row of shelves, turning several fruitless circles before coming to a stop and staring out at Mulder once more. She can’t believe it,  _ doesn’t _ believe it. And yet… 

His grin is kind, rather than smug. “C’mon, Scully. Let’s see if we can’t borrow some umbrellas, and I’ll walk you home.”


End file.
